


Just For One Day

by thunderpiperose



Category: Men's Basketball RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2019-12-07 14:30:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18236153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderpiperose/pseuds/thunderpiperose
Summary: A story about these two unlikely MVPs during different times including the year they became close friends (1999), their last year together as Mavericks (2004), until the Mavs became champions in 2011.





	1. 1999

**Author's Note:**

  * For [horizon_greene](https://archiveofourown.org/users/horizon_greene/gifts), [Jayson Vooyrhees (SailingMishap)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailingMishap/gifts).



> First, let me pay tribute to the song that inspired me to write this in the first place, David Bowie's Heroes. Now that that's done, I just want to mention that it's so sweet of the GS Warriors to get Nash for Dirk's standing ovation.
> 
> Nashwitzki is a ship that intrigues me, they just look good together, and their dynamic is adorable. For all the fellow Nashwitzki shippers out there (I'm looking at those germadian-lovin lurkers at livejournal), this is for you!
> 
> AU in which Nash and Nowitzki are exclusive.

_Home court advantage, fuck that, forget it._

The Dallas night sky was beautiful, tainted with a tinge of blue a few shades deeper than the Mavericks uniform. The fresh, cool breeze caressed the face of a young man, jaw clenched as his mind reached in for the memory of a game when the Dallas audience dampened his spirit.  _Booed on my own turf_ , that was all he could think of as he sat alone on a bench at the apartment complex he was staying at, dark chestnut hair dancing with the wind.

“This is new,” said a familiar voice, markedly with a German accent. “Steve Nash not in the gym or shooting hoops.”

Nash averted his gaze from the deepening night sky to glance at the seven-foot tall, blonde German who sat next to him. “Well, this back is killing me.”

Dirk Nowitzki knew Steve Nash better than that. Dirk knew that a bad back was not reason enough to stop the young Canadian from doing something, anything, to keep improving. At this point, early in his career, there was nothing else Dirk could relate to even more.

“You’re frustrated.” There’s something about Nash that made Dirk feel at ease, as if he could share anything, his deepest thoughts, his feelings. In Nash’s company, Dirk felt that he had nothing to hide. “I know how it feels.”

 _Oh sure you do, you weren’t the one being booed the moment the ball touched your hand._  Nash shook his head, trying to shake off the frustration.  _What the hell’s wrong with you? Dirk’s trying to be nice here_.

“We could add an hour or two,” Dirk crossed his arms and inhaled, taking in the solemn breeze, “of basketball practice, or time in the gym, or both.”

“I think I spend enough time with you as it is.” Nash, lips curled at one corner, turned his smug face to Dirk, grateful just to have a friend beside him when he felt like internalizing everything.

“You’re a weirdo.” Dirk smiled, pursing his lips to hold back a chuckle. “You know that?”

“It takes one to know one,” Nash mumbled.

“What did you say?” Dirk leaned in, still smiling through pursed lips.

Nash slowly shook his head and looked on as Dirk held the expression. Dirk was one of the few people in Nash’s life that smiled with pursed lips. It made the German look goofier than he already was. Nash found it funny, thinking that Dirk must have been the tall, lanky, awkward wallflower back in high school, and if he weren’t, then he definitely behaved like one since the day he started his career in the Dallas Mavericks.

There they were, two foreign misfits with dreams bigger than all of Dallas, sitting on a bench under the all-encompassing darkness above them, surrounded by a cold wind that seemed to fail in blowing away their dreams into oblivion.

Nash kept his eyes on Dirk who was still smiling with those pursed lips, then he turned to look at the stars, twinkling blue dots in the vastness of the black sky.  _The darkness doesn’t look so dark after all._

* * *

“Pass me the ball.” 

Nash could barely hear the echo of Dirk’s voice over the stream of memories racing in his head. With every dribble, the sound of the ball making contact with the polished, wooden floor seemed to drown out everything else.  _Pass. Me. The. Ball._  Those four words have more than penetrated Nash’s love for the sport, almost to the point of being the very concept that his passion revolved around. He knew it, for some reason he knew that those four words would begin to define the worst and best moments of his career. It was a strange feeling. And with every strange feeling, Nash made sure there was a follow-through, as sure as the ones he held after every free throw shot.

“Dude, pass me the ball, pass me the  _fucking_ ball. You’re a point guard for Chrissake!” was what the small forward for the Santa Clara Broncos yelled in Nash’s ear as they approached the bench after their team called a much-needed time-out in the fourth quarter of a game against the Gonzaga Bulldogs. No one else heard it because the crowd was so goddamn noisy and it was uttered so close to Nash’s ear he thought his eardrum would pop. It was one of those bad nights for Steve Nash. It was the night he thought he’d break his record number of turnovers due to intercepted passes and missed jump shots. When he passed the ball, he failed, and when he didn’t pass the ball, he still failed. It was just a bad night overall, a big letdown. Never mind his teammate’s bad attitude, the Santa Clara small forward was a competent guy who could make drives to the basket, secure those two points for the team, but if the point guard couldn’t get the ball to him, there was no point, literally. What use were those sleepless nights shooting a hundred free throws, a hundred mid-range shots, and a hundred three pointers if he couldn’t pass the ball to his teammates? The small, skinny, Canadian kid who played soccer, hockey, tennis, and lacrosse had great court vision and an enviable field goal and free throw percentage, but he just couldn’t execute on the passes when it mattered. Nash knew that passing was a skill never to be ignored but from then on, he made it a point to be the skill that mattered. His team was about to lose due to costly turnovers from failed passes and shots, and if he couldn’t make the shots, he had no choice but to make someone else take them.

Whenever his team lost, Nash would sit somewhere isolated. A swing in an empty playground, a park bench, on bleachers by his lonesome self, you name it. He would stay there for an hour or two, beating his ego as some form of consolation or self-punishment, or both. For a man who has beaten his ego for so long, he couldn’t help but think that there was a silent voice in the back of his head that formed, a creeping voice that held him back for a split-second every time he attempted to shoot the ball.  _If I can’t make the shot, I have to make someone else take it, and be sure that he takes it._

On each day that team practice was scheduled, Nash took every opportunity to improve his passing skill. Eventually, passing became instinctive to him, and combined with his remarkable court vision which he picked up on playing other team sports like soccer and hockey, he became some sort of playmaker. He didn’t know which to credit for his instinctive passing, the fact that he already beat his ego into a pulp or his drive to improve the parts of himself that were sorely lacking. It must have been both because he was still being too hard on his ego and he was still passionate about improving whatever needs to be improved to up his game.

Nash would never forget the time when he and Dirk were with Coach Don Nelson on the dais during a press con, and it wasn’t because of the crazy 90s haircuts that made Nash look like someone from Nsync and Dirk look like a Backstreet Boys reject. When Don Nelson asked Dirk, “Dirk, you have a statement you wanna make?” and Dirk, shy guy he was back then and still probably is, just said, “I’m alright,” Nash cut in to say, “Pass me the ball.” Sure, everyone was laughing, but Nash wanted Dirk to make a statement to the world that he had a point guard he can rely on. A point guard that could pass him the ball from any direction said point guard was coming from.

Nash dribbled all the way to the low post and made a shot off the glass.

“Look who’s making the shots today.” Dirk, hands on his waist, grinned at his friend for ignoring his request. Nash was a team player, hell, a pretty good playmaker, but sometimes you just couldn’t force him out of his trance.

Nash picked up the ball and held it to his side, smiling. “I figured if I can’t make someone else take the shots, I’d make ‘em.”  _And be sure to make ‘em._


	2. September, 2003

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's got the lyrics of Rebel Rebel and Heroes in it. Bowie is all over this work I swear.

The final preseason team practice session had ended with Steve Nash and Dirk Nowitzki putting on one of their best performances of the month. They were killing it not only on the pick and rolls, but also on the catch and shoot with Dirk’s three pointers. Nash went from being booed on home court to actually being half of the duo that made the Mavs title hopefuls, and Dirk from the soft, unassertive German to an offensive force to be reckoned with, inside and outside the paint.

Nash watched everyone go to the locker room as he tied his shoelaces, making a mental note to replace them with a new pair. Michael Finley looked as if he was turning his head in Nash’s direction and in fact, they made eye contact twice. On the second time, Nash unintentionally raised an eyebrow and just focused on getting his shoes tied, Dirk standing near him, waiting for him to finish.

 “You should go ahead, get social,” Nash suggested.

“Nah, don’t want to go in a room smelling of Right Guard and Old Spice.” Dirk had already had much time to bond with the other Mavs in the course of the few years since he was traded into Dallas in 1998, and it was the last practice session anyway, so he was sure he wanted to spend time with Nash. Build a stronger bond with each other, as if they still needed to. “You sure are taking your time, Nashy.”

Halfway through tying the laces of his left shoe, Nash cocked his head and glared at Dirk with his trademark steely-eyed stare, brows a bit scrunched, lower teeth pushed a bit to the front behind tight lips. “You’re actually gonna call me that.”

 “Are you gonna try and stop me?” Dirk couldn’t stop grinning, he looked like the bully who could be bullied, if that made sense.

 With a tug on the laces, Nash finally finished what he was doing and shoved Dirk. “Yeah, I am gonna try and stop you.”

 Dirk, still grinning, crossed his arms on his chest. The gesture didn’t make him any more intimidating. “Yeah? How you gonna do that?”

“Whatever, man,” Nash sighed deeply, weary of his buddy’s antics. He grabbed his towel, proceeded to the locker room, and mouthed the word weirdo as he walked on. Dirk followed suit.

Back at the locker room, Dirk ripped a note that read, “Beers at Nash’s,” that was taped on his locker. He glanced at Nash, just your typical brunette nonchalantly organizing his training paraphernalia, not looking like he’s about to host some grand preseason’s end party. Dirk thought that it must be a North American thing. Nobody told him anything about celebrating after the session and here he finds a random note taped to his locker, and Nash still hasn’t told him about anything. It must be a team thing where they just leave notes and not speak about it until they’re actually there, to see who shows up. Some test of camaraderie or something like that. _I’ll bring lager_ was the only thought in Dirk’s head before he crunched the note in his hand.

* * *

Nash was almost finished brushing his teeth when the apartment doorbell rang. He rinsed his mouth, went toward the front door, and squinted through the peephole to see who came at this time of night. It was Dirk. It was unusual for Dirk to just come over without sending a text message, calling the phone, or mentioning anything to him after practice. Is this supposed to be a surprise? Was he trying to start a tradition? Is this an effort to make peace for the fact that he called Nash Nashy back in the gym?

Nash opened the door and said, “Hey,” eyeing Dirk up and down.

Dirk, holding a plastic bag of beer bottles in one hand, ruffled Nash’s hair with the other and entered. “Had dinner?”

“Yeah, in fact, I was just brushing my teeth.” Nash closed the door and stood there, staring at the bag of beers Dirk dropped on the side of the living room couch. “What gives?”

“I brought lager.” Dirk busied himself with watching what was on Nash’s TV, ESPN’s late night replay of a baseball game. Over the course of their friendship, he learned that Nash was a bit of a jack of all sports. Nash had mentioned hockey, soccer, and tennis, so this time, Dirk was intrigued to see that Nash tuned in to the baseball world. “Play baseball a lot too?”

“You could say that.” Nash shrugged and sat on the couch with Dirk on the other end. “Could hit a few homeruns.”

“I thought you were more of a pitcher.”

The comment made Nash smile. Him and Dirk throwing friendly jabs at each other, it was becoming routine, like finishing each other’s sentences.

“So, where’s everybody?” Dirk looked around, noticing that it was awfully quiet for a team celebration.

Nash furrowed his brows. “What do you mean?”

“You know, the beers?”

Nash blinked a few times. He couldn’t decipher the empty look on Dirk’s face. Was his German buddy drunk or imagining things? Did Dirk already down a dozen bottles before the visit and left some for him so that they could be wasted together? “What the hell are you talkin’ about, bro? You’re the one who came in with the beer.”

For a few seconds, Dirk stared at Nash with a blank expression, then he suddenly smiled, mouth open as if he discovered another interesting detail about his friend. “Oh, Nashy, I know what this is.” Dirk smiled with pursed lips as if he were proud of Nash pulling one on him. “It was all a joke, to get back at me for calling you Nashy. Nice touch on the locker note.”

“What note?”

“You know, the one that said, Beers at Nash’s?”

Nash inhaled, finally piecing together what was happening. _Fucking Finley_. He hated to drop it on his friend but there was no party, and although Nash liked to drink beer, there wasn’t much left in the fridge. “Dirk,” Nash sighed. “Hate to break it to you but, Finley pulled one on both of us. There’s no party, and all I’ve got is a few Canadian beers my brother sends me to keep me from feeling homesick.”

“Oh.” Dirk clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “Why’d he do that?”

“You know what, I don’t care. I’m getting ice.” Nash stood up and pointed to the plastic bag that was resting on the floor, just beside the couch. “We’re drinkin’ all of that.”

“And get too wasted to watch baseball?” Dirk tried his best to conjure an expression of concern. He was failing at it, hard.

“We have plenty of time to watch baseball and party, promise.” Nash ran to the kitchen.

It was just one of those random nights when one ended up staying at the other’s apartment. Neither bothered to wonder why Finley taped the mystery note on Dirk’s locker, what motivated him, or what was in it for him to do something as vague as that. The small incident that got them there in the first place was completely forgotten as the clock approached midnight. Nash lounged on the sofa, hands on his stomach. Dirk rested on the floor, leaning his elbow on a pillow as he fiddled with an empty beer bottle.

“Hey Dirk, your hair looks funny.”

“Not as bad as-”

“Mine? I didn’t say it looks bad, I said it looks funny. That’s a good thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It looks like my grandma cut it.”

After a short pause, Dirk laughed. It always took him a while to process Nash’s dry sense of humor, but when it hit him, he could hardly suppress a chuckle. “Heh, go to bed Nashy, you’re drunk.”

_Hey babe, your hair’s alright_

_Hey babe, let’s go out tonight_

_You like me and I like it all_

“Dude, no one gets drunk on three beers.” Nash yawned. He rolled to his side to face the inside of the couch, getting ready to sleep. “And turn off the cheesy 70s music.”

_They put you down, they say I’m wrong_

_You tacky thing, you put them on_

* * *

“Alright, game’s over, good game!” Nash clapped from the front row of a Texas Rangers versus the Houston Astros game.

“Yo! Rangers rock!” Nowitzki sat next to Nash, cheering and holding up a peace sign to show his support.

Nash noticed a camera focusing in on them, probably taking a snapshot or a brief footage for a mention of NBA players watching Major League Baseball. Most of the time, he was oblivious to his status as a public figure by virtue of his being an NBA player, but when reality hits him and reminds him that there was a measure of fame attached to his career, he feels like he just wants to make it worthwhile. Say something good and mean it or be himself as if the world wasn’t looking. He was never the type to make love to the camera but when put in the position, he wanted the world to see him for who he was, Kid Canada who wanted to make the assist.

Roused from his reverie, Nash patted Dirk on the back, stood up, and said, “C’mon, let’s go someplace else, play pool or somethin’.” Dirk followed him to the stadium exit.

Playing pool and drinking beer in a downtown Dallas bar from five o’clock in the afternoon until seven at night was the Mavs dynamic duo’s preferred way of spending the rest of the day and calming nerves before the start of the season. Dirk was drinking so much beer his cheeks were already flushed, his shots were getting worse, if that was even possible since they were already bad to begin with.

When Dirk leaned on the pool table to take another shot, one eye closed, wobbling as he struggled to hold his position, Nash pulled him up by his tummy and back saying, “C’mon bro, ‘nuff pool, you’re embarrassing yusself.” Nash was sober enough to notice the slight slur in his voice _. That’s enough alcohol for you, Nashy._ However, his thoughts started playing with him.

“Hey, it’s Steve Nash and Dirk Nowitzki! Mind if I take a couple of pictures?” A guy wearing a checkered shirt called out to them, holding up a camera.

“Shurrr, knock yourself out,” Nash slurred, still holding Dirk, not giving a damn whether his friend was sober enough to stand on his own. The only thing he wanted to make sure of was that Dirk wasn’t going to fall over, not on his watch, recalling the days when the seven-foot-tall German had a knack for swaying clumsily near the baseline, threatening to tumble when assertive defenders hogged him after tipping a shot or securing a rebound.

When the guy held up the camera, Dirk hastily shifted his position to grasp Nash’s right hand in his, grab Nash’s arm with his left hand, and lean in so suddenly that he bumped his temple on Nash’s, earning a silent gasp from the tipsy Canadian.

Snap!

“Let’s take another!” the guy exclaimed.

Nash was pushed to the back as Dirk reached for the guy’s hair near the ear, playing with the deep brown curls. “Hey Nash, he’s got hair like yours.” Some random chick hugged Dirk from behind, gaining herself a spot in the photo.

Nash, wide-eyed at Dirk’s sudden and awkward movements, couldn’t do anything but yell out a “What?”

Snap!

After a last picture with Dirk, the guy thanked them and left the bar with an expression that showed more than satisfaction on his face. Nash and Dirk were drinking water to flush out the alcohol in their system, ready to leave the bar as well.

Nash gulped down the last of his glass of water.  “You gave me hell, Nowitzki.”

“You know I was just pretending to be wasted.” Dirk placed his baseball cap backwards on Nash’s head.

“Wow, you deserve an Oscar,” Nash said dryly, feeling an ounce of sobriety returning as he was able to regain his wit. He left a generous tip on the counter and walked off, Dirk by his side.

* * *

“Let’s crash.” Nash turned the key in the lock and opened his apartment door. He turned on the lamplight in the living room and took his usual spot on the sofa, motioning for Dirk to sit beside him. Dirk did just that, but he kept to himself. He was like that the moment they left the bar, quietly staring into the distance which was uncharacteristic of him. Nash found the silence between them comfortable but he felt a little chatty, it was probably the alcohol that hadn’t drained out of his system. Nash stared at Dirk who looked distant, swimming in his own thoughts.

“So-” Nash had a sly tone in his voice. “That chick at the bar, you get her number?”

Dirk stayed silent.

“I told you I kept my promises. We watched baseball and partied, not hard though.”

Dirk hoped that Nash would just shut up. There was an uneasy feeling in his stomach and he knew it wasn’t the liquor. His mind was bothering him all day with something vague, something inexplicable. _Gemutlichkeit._ That is what Steve Nash meant to him. Familiar. Comfortable. Safe. Dirk wanted Nash to shut up and talk at the same time, to take comfort in the silence of his presence and to hear his soothing, soft-spoken voice. When they were on court, Nash would take charge and speak like a true leader, assertive but never condescending. Off court, Nash had a lethargic vibe to him which completely disappeared the moment he started to talk, enthusiasm oozing out of his person. Wherever Nash was, Dirk wanted to be there, if only to hear him talk, see him smile.

Dirk tilted his head to look back at Nash who was just sitting there, staring and smiling at him, the lamp lighting the side of his face and making him look good on that angle. Yes. He looked good from every angle.

“Hey, I think maybe we should do that more often, watch baseball, or maybe movies, or just-“

And right there, at that moment, Dirk pressed his lips to Nash’s. He must have felt it, _Gemutlichkeit._ The cool autumn breeze in Wurzburg, Germany. The crackling of the fireplace in cold winter nights. The pitter-patter of the spring rain on the roof of his home. Sitting near a fountain beneath the Wurzburg summer sun. Being in the right place at the right time. Caressing Nash’s soft lips with his own.

And Nash could think of nothing else. He parted Dirk’s gentle lips with his tongue, letting himself be taken and at the same time, taking in everything. Their tongues intertwined, melting into each other like delicate rose petals falling to the lake surface, slowly sinking into the depths. Inextricable. Dirk’s mouth was a haven that welcomed his weary soul, providing warmth in places where there had only been cold uncertainty.

_And we kissed_

_As though nothing could fall_

* * *

Nash woke up to find himself in bed, his cellphone ringing and Dirk’s stubble brushing his shoulder. He looked at the clock to see that it was already past ten in the morning and grabbed his phone on the nightstand, his mom was calling.

“Hey mom,” Nash answered, the usual dull tone in his voice. It felt surreal, talking to his mom while he was lying in bed with Dirk who was still fast asleep, head resting cozily on the crook of his neck, especially considering what they had done the night before.

“Steve, how are you?” asked Nash’s mom, she was as sweet and warm as she always was to him.

“Hm, great really, the season’s about to start. I think we can do better this year.”

“That’s good to hear darling, and you know what else is good news?”

Nash smiled at the thought of his mom barely able to suppress her excitement.

“We’re going to spend Christmas with you in Dallas!”

He could feel the rush of excitement from the other end of the line, it was contagious. “That’s great! I already have a lot to look forward to this season and that’s even made it better.”

“Your dad and I will be there. I think your brother’s too busy with soccer though. I even wanted to call you earlier to start your day with this, oh we miss you so much already.”

“And I miss you guys too.” Nash felt Dirk’s embrace tighten, a groan, blonde locks brushed his cheek, their legs a tangled mess. “I love you, heh, the ants are already crawling up on me.”

A short pause and his mom finally said, “We love you Steve, all the best from Canada.”

“Oh Canada,” Nash chuckled. “Bye mom, see you soon.”

“See you soon, dear.” And with that, their conversation ended.

“What was that about ants?” Dirk mumbled, eyes still closed.

Nash stared at Dirk’s eyelashes. Were they always that pretty or was it just that time of the morning? “You were listening?”

“Just that part.” Dirk shifted to lean on the headboard, pulling Nash’s face close to his chest and gently stroking the deep brown locks. Were they always that soft? Yes, they were always that soft.

“My mom called to tell me they were gonna come here for Christmas.”

“No way,” Dirk grinned. “My parents are also gonna spend Christmas here. Even Silke’s coming.”

“Dirk, you know what that means, right?”

Dirk stayed silent.

“If we’re gonna spend Christmas together, then both our families have to be here.”

“So?”

“So-“ Nash grabbed Dirk’s shoulders, propping himself up and looking Dirk in the eyes. Oh, those eyes, they always looked like they reflected the grey storm clouds underneath the German’s cool, calm, and collected exterior. “Just because we slept together doesn’t mean we should go on ahead and meet each other’s parents.”

Dirk raised his eyebrows. “I think it’s perfect, my folks will love you.”

Nash smirked. “Are you really gonna tell them?”

“What?” Dirk avoided looking into Nash’s eyes. “That I’m sleeping with our point guard?”

Nash pressed their lips together. Dirk kissed back, regaining his confidence. Nash pulled back abruptly, looking at a confused Dirk, and said, “My mom’s definitely gonna love you.” And Dirk Nowitzki looked even more confused than ever.


	3. December, 2003

Dirk Nowitzki picked up his phone. “Hallo.” 

“Shit, Dirk, what am I gonna wear?” Steve Nash’s frantic voice came from the other end of the line.

After a moment’s silence, Dirk said, “I don’t know.”

“This is your family from Germany we’re talkin’ about, I have to be tight as shit.”

“Yo, Nashy, calm down.”

Christmas Eve in Dallas, there probably couldn’t be a better time of the year. White winter snow strewn across the lawns, sitting in front of a warm fireplace holding a mug of hot chocolate, cheery voices of loved ones lending an atmosphere of glee, your lover beside you…

“Just wear what you’d normally wear, or maybe just put on one of those ugly Christmas sweaters,” Dirk teased.

“Shyeah right, maybe _you_ should.” Despite the sardonic reply, Nash savored the thought of how cute Dirk would look in an ugly Christmas sweater complete with reindeers, snowmen, and chubby little Santas knitted across the chest.

Few have made remarks on how clutch the Canadian Mavs point guard actually was and Dirk thought it criminal, but now, Dirk found it hilarious that said point guard was buckling under pressure on what to wear to Christmas Eve dinner with the Nowitzkis. “Sure, see you tonight.”

Dirk was almost ready to hang up when Nash uttered, “Dirk?”

“Yeah?”

“My dad would love to see you in an ugly Christmas sweater.”

“Bye Nashy.” Dirk pressed the button to end the conversation. _Who am I kidding, he’s clutch as fuck._

Nash and his parents were going to have Christmas Eve dinner with the Nowitzkis in Dirk’s apartment. Nash’s mom thought it was the more prudent decision, considering that the Nowitzkis flew all the way from Germany and that the Nash family were North Americans who felt more familiar with the territory. Nash was looking forward to whatever German cuisine he was going to taste that night, a bit ashamed about not knowing much about German culture aside from Nazis and difficult-to-pronounce yet hard-sounding variations of hotdogs. He thought that he really should start asking his boyfriend about it.

His _boyfriend_.

“So, Steven,” Dirk’s dad drawled. “How do you find ze Sauerbraten?”

Nash snapped out of his musing and blurted, “Oh, I love it, the meat is amazingly tender.” He was so busy with basketball that he hadn’t let the thought of Dirk Nowitzki being his boyfriend completely sink in yet.

“Dad,” Dirk intervened. “You can call him Steve.”

“Pardon me, Steve.” Dirk’s dad cleared his throat. “My son has told us a lot about you and he thanks you for many of ze scores he’s made. Thank you for taking so much care of our big Dirk.”

“He used to call a lot you know,” Silke chimed in. “Venting out his frustration and all, but after a while, he still kept calling but not as much. Looks like I have you to thank for that.”

Nash’s parents looked at him with proud smiles, no teeth shown but ear to ear nonetheless. Nash swore that at that moment, his cheeks must’ve looked like they’ve been stained with the cranberry sauce in the turkey. He was a full four years older than Dirk so he thought it was by default that he became some sort of big brother figure to the younger athlete. He turned his eyes to see Dirk smiling at him, lips pursed. The expression became familiar, comfortable, and the longer they knew each other, the more Nash found it endearing.

“It’s great, really. Dirk’s been wonderful.” Nash tried to summon every bit of German he had in him and said, “Absolutely wunderbar.”

“That’s terrible,” Dirk giggled. “You should stick to English.”

“Then you’re a bad teacher,” Nash retorted, smirking at Dirk as he played around with his food.

The sound of laughter enveloped the dining room as both families laughed merrily. Nash and Dirk’s chemistry couldn’t just light up a basketball arena, it was a contagious positive energy even off court. They just clicked, and anyone who didn’t notice was either blind or just plain oblivious. Their families certainly weren’t either, so the merriment continued through the night until dinner had finished and it was almost time for Nash and parents to return to his apartment.

Nash and Dirk stood up as their parents started cleaning up the dinner table.

Nash told Dirk, “Hey, I have to use the bathroom.”

“Silke’s using the other one so you can use mine, come on.”

Dirk placed a hand on Nash’s shoulder as he led the way to his bedroom… as if they’ve never been there before. Dirk let Nash enter first before shutting the door behind them.

“Ok, I don’t really need to use the bathroom,” Nash admitted, eyes looking up at Dirk, clutching something underneath his sweater. “I just wanted to be alone with you.”

Dirk eyed Nash as he sat on the edge of the bed and revealed a small package.

“I want you to open this in front of me.”

Dirk scratched his temple and smiled, thinking that he forgot to get Nash’s gift from the closet and place it beneath the Christmas tree. He walked to the closet, grabbed the small package similar to Nash’s, and held it out in front. “Only if you open this, too.”

Nash motioned for Dirk to sit beside him and Dirk obliged. They exchanged packages and tore up the wrappers.

Nash held a pair of white socks, thumbing them to get a feel of the soft fabric. He could see three silver letters, MVP, embroidered along the hem.

Dirk got two headbands, one navy and the other, white. He held one in each hand, wide-eyed, like a toddler with a brand new action figure, full to the brim with excitement. “I love this! Nashy, you’re the best!”

“Turn them over,” Nash instructed.

Dirk did so and grinned when he found MVP elegantly embroidered inside each one. He slowly shook his head and said, “Looks like we’re both going to be MVPs.”

“You wish,” Nash chuckled. His smile quickly morphed into something pensive as he looked longingly at Dirk who he knew had the physical endowment and talent to become one of the best in the league, thinking that he could only work as hard as he can to keep up.

Dirk gazed into Nash’s baby blues. They reminded him of the sky during a flight back home to Wurzburg, blue and brilliant, limitless. Limitless. Dirk believed that Nash’s success in the NBA had no limits. Nash put his mind to everything he did, poured his heart and soul, and that’s why Dirk knew that this “short and slow” Canadian was MVP material. The league only ever had to open its eyes to see it.

Dirk pulled Nash in and kissed him on the forehead, lovingly stroking the deep brown locks. Dirk noticed that Nash’s hair had grown longer after around three months into the season, and that made him look even more attractive, if that was possible. Now Dirk was just playing with the ends, curling them into his fingers. He smiled at the memory when he thought Nash looked ridiculous with the 90s look, brown roots and frosted tips. He never knew that he’d grow to love the trademark brown, shaggy mop.

Nash wrapped his arms around Dirk’s chest and trailed kisses on his lover’s collarbone to the jaw. Dirk couldn’t help but bite his lip and groan at the sudden gesture. Nash began to suck eagerly on the tender skin of his neck. Damn, he revered Nash’s skill with those soft, moist lips, always burning with desire. No ESPN camera would be able to hide that love bite.

As much as Dirk hated it, he grabbed Nash’s shoulders and pushed away gently, looking into the Canadian’s dazed face. Seeing Nash’s flushed skin, an irresistible sight, made Dirk want to show him how much he loved him, right then and there, but he knew he couldn’t because they weren’t the only ones in the apartment. “Hey, don’t make your parents wait.”

“Oh, right.” Nash stood up, cradling the white pair of socks in his hands. “I guess it’s goodnight then?”

Dirk, still sitting on the bed, reached to push Nash’s bangs behind his ears and pulled him in for one more longing kiss. Once finished, Nash said, “You’re not making this easy for me.”

“Gute nacht,” Dirk smiled. The pretty blue eyes, the chocolate hair, the lean frame, bursting passion in a small package, after four years, he fell in love with everything. He lost himself in the depths of Nash’s eyes, not a care in the world, not knowing that this would be his beloved’s last Christmas as a Dallas Maverick.

_‘Cause we’re lovers_

_And that is a fact_

_Yes we’re lovers_

_And that is that_


	4. Summer, 2004

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the most important chapter of this work because it reveals a lot about the boys' feelings for each other before they go their separate ways.

After the refusal to match the Phoenix Suns’ offer, Dirk Nowitzki stormed into Mark Cuban’s office. If anyone could persuade the businessman to put up a lot of money for Steve Nash, it was him, Dallas’ golden boy, the power forward who made things possible.

“Look, Dirk,” Cuban started. “I put what I had on the table, just a bit more and it was all in. I’m telling you, the Suns just gave him an impossible offer.”

“You know what Nash means to this team,” Dirk uttered, trying to be as rational as he can.  “You’re already paying him less than what he deserves. You can’t just let him go, not without a fight.” 

“I gave him the best offer I could.” Cuban leaned back on his chair and placed both hands on his desk. “He’s thirty years old, got a fragile back, you can’t have me paying him more than what both you and Finley get. He was drafted by the Suns, it’s just, oh, you know, time for them to get him back.”

Dirk breathed in deeply, shaking his head, not sure of what to think. He was just enjoying a lazy, off-season summer day when suddenly, his phone rang and he answered, only to hear Nash say, “Dirk, I agreed to sign with the Suns. I’m leaving for Phoenix soon.”

“I think I’m not the one you should be talking to.” Cuban’s suggestion knocked Dirk out of his confusion.

“Sorry,” Dirk sighed. “I just heard the news.”

“Probably didn’t want to tell anyone ‘til he’s made up his mind.”

“Yeah,” Dirk murmured as he walked out and closed the door behind him. There was only one place he needed to be and one person he wanted to talk to.

* * *

“Hey, come in.” Nash was ready to welcome Dirk at any time, considering that he so unexpectedly broke the news over the phone.

Dirk entered and leaned on the living room wall, arms folded across his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, failing to mask his somber tone. His gaze at Nash wasn’t one of anger but rather, concern.

“’Cause I didn’t want you thinking that I was leaving you for the money.” Nash took a seat on one of the armchairs, hands together, fingers curled, bracing himself for whatever reaction Dirk might have for the situation.

“How much was it?”

“More than sixty mil, six years.”

“I would’ve told you to take it,” Dirk declared. “That’s a great deal. Show Cuban how much you’re really worth.”

Nash stood up and walked to Dirk, wrapping his arms around Dirk’s waist as Dirk uncrossed his arms to comfort his lover in an embrace, hands stroking Nash’s back and hair. Nash rested his head on Dirk’s chest and closed his eyes. “And that’s why I didn’t want to tell you, you’d be the first to tell me to go.”

Dirk held up Nash’s chin with his thumb, staring into those solemn blue eyes. Dirk leaned in to press their lips together and pulled away after a few seconds of contact. Nash looked at him, puzzled. Dirk leaned in again and this time, their tongues brushed for a brief moment before he pulled away. He swore he tasted something bitter, it must’ve been beer. Nash must’ve downed a few before he arrived.

Nash scrunched his eyebrows, looking incredulously at Dirk. Was this an attempt to punish him for not telling Dirk anything before he made the decision? “You’re a tease, you know that?”

“Only because I like you so much,” Dirk whispered in Nash’s ear.

He hoisted Nash by the knees. The unpredictable move made Nash wrap his arms around Dirk’s neck, being carried like a two-year-old child. Despite Nash’s six-foot-three frame, Dirk made him look like a skinny little kid. Being called the “short, skinny Canadian” was bad enough, but Nash didn’t mind always being beside Dirk. In fact, he liked the contrast, Steve Nash next to a tall, blonde, German enigma.

Dirk opened the door to Nash’s bedroom and gently laid his lover down on the bed before he proceeded to undo the buttons of his shirt and throw it on the floor. Nash lay motionless on the bed, staring at the ceiling, arms and legs spread wide to savor the softness of the bed sheets. He heard Dirk’s belt being unbuckled but he kept staring upward, aware that he was fully clothed, just a Rolling Stone tee and jeans he didn’t even bother to belt.

Nash wasn’t going to undress himself because he wanted Dirk to do it, undress him like the way Dirk always made him so damn vulnerable. He wanted to feel undone and remade before he left for Phoenix, before he left the Mavericks for good. He glanced at Dirk who was standing near the edge of the bed in front of him, nothing but his boxers on, and the sight was enough to make him sit up and take in every detail. Broad shoulders, toned arms, chest, abs, thighs, all for him to see. Nash couldn’t describe the feeling, but he knew that only Dirk could make him feel that way.

Nash was not a virgin, no, not even on the first time he and Dirk made love after a heady day of baseball, billiards, and beer. Not in high school though, when the girls thought he looked weird and his acne got the better of him. Fortunately, puberty did him a favor, though arguably not much considering that he wanted to bulk up, so he’s had his share of flings when he was a college jock, but what he and Dirk had right now was incomparable. Was it that strong sense of security that gave him the confidence to leave? Frankly, he just wanted his mind to shut the hell up.

“You know this isn’t going to work, we can’t have it the way we want,” Nash growled, wanting to get rid of the tightening feeling in his chest. “Dirk, we’re _NBA players_ , NBA players don’t fuck each other. This is too-“ Nash paused, struggling to find the right word, “stupid to risk our careers for!”

“Is that why you’re leaving?” Dirk looked him in the eyes, those cloudy gray orbs penetrating his sky blue ones. Dirk could make him feel vulnerable even without laying a hand on him. He was supposed to loathe the feeling but it had become so familiar that there was no more point in resisting.

“The season before last, we got into the west con finals, then last season, when we were too busy fucking each other, we couldn’t even get past the quarterfinals. Face it, that’s messed up, and I can’t keep letting this stand in the way of how we play basketball.” Nash let out the torrent of words, his frustration flooding out of him. Now that he was going away for good, there was no more reason to hold back.

Dirk placed one knee on the bed and leaned toward him, gently massaging his shoulders. “Steve,” Dirk whispered soothingly in his ear, easing his mind. “The game has nothing to do with this. We don’t have to make it work because it _already does_. You didn’t let me hold you back and I love you, so much, just because.”

Dirk felt Nash’s quick, deep breaths gradually slow down, gaining a relaxed rhythm.

“Man, I just wanted to throw all that out before we-“

“Shhh,” Dirk hushed him softly. Dirk grabbed Nash’s shirt by the waist and he yielded, finally relinquishing all his trust to his lover. Dirk pulled the shirt up and threw it down without a moment’s thought, the same way he did Nash’s jeans after carefully pulling them off. Nash lay still on the bed, waiting for whatever Dirk desired to do with him.

Dirk stood still, admiring Nash’s slim, sinewy form. The first time they made love, Dirk moved with hesitation, afraid that he might do something clumsy that would cause Nash pain, but now, he climbed on the bed with an air of confidence, trailing kisses from Nash’s tummy to his neck, hands working Nash’s body with such care and skill that Nash could only marvel at his dexterity.

Dirk was sucking and licking the sensitive part of his jaw so hungrily that he couldn’t stop his hands from fondling all over Dirk’s body, feeling up the German’s muscular chest, abdomen, waist, and whatever else he could get his hands on. Nash couldn’t suppress a moan when he felt Dirk’s smooth tongue slowly trace his jawline, not to mention Dirk’s way with his hands. Oh, how Dirk knew where and how to touch him, what to do with those hands and that tongue and those lips. Everything Dirk did made complete sense and all of it combined was enough to send his body into overdrive.

Dirk propped himself on his elbows to take a look at the man quivering beneath him. Nash’s dark, chestnut locks, tips wet with sweat, spread out messily around his face. Nash was breathing deeply now, flushed cheeks revealing the rush of blood to his face. Dirk could feel his groin tighten at the sight of Nash beneath him, so vulnerable, so ready to be undone.

“Dirk, I love you,” Nash breathed. “And this, this is all about you.” He was speaking in bursts now, hot breath caressing Dirk’s face. What he just said didn’t really need an explanation. All he could see above him was Dirk, Dirk’s curly blonde hair, Dirk’s smooth, pale skin, Dirk’s smile, Dirk’s gray eyes. Nash wanted to lose himself in all of Dirk. His love for Dirk felt all-consuming, and at that moment, he wanted to surrender all control, to have himself give everything to Dirk and to have Dirk take everything from him.

Nash buried his hands in Dirk’s curly locks and pulled in, saying, “I love you,” once more against Dirk’s lips before he let his tongue slide in, pleasuring every crevice in Dirk’s warm, wet mouth, desperate to please his lover. Nash felt himself harden at the thought of all the pleasure Dirk was getting from him.

Dirk appreciated how much Nash wanted to make it up to him, even though he thought there was nothing to make up for. He indulged Nash’s feelings of guilt to make Nash know that with him, there was nothing to be afraid of, nothing to hide, and all that’s there to feel is safety. Complete and utter security.

The loving strokes of Nash’s tongue were truly a treat for his senses. He gently lowered his hips, melting into his lover’s embrace, the friction of their loins causing him to moan inside Nash’s mouth. He could feel Nash’s hardness against his, separated only by the fabric of their shorts.

Dirk pulled away for a moment and said, “For someone who just said that NBA players don’t fuck each other, you’re really giving this your all.”

“We don’t fuck, we make love,” Nash snapped.

Nash pulled him in again and their tongues clashed with each other, dancing together with reckless abandon. Dirk didn’t give a damn whether Nash was in Dallas, Phoenix, or wherever, all he wanted to do was make Nash know that he loves him, no matter where in the world they were, together or apart, and right now, he wanted to express that love through his body.

Dirk started taking his shorts off and Nash, as though able to read Dirk’s mind, started pulling down his own. There they were, completely naked in front of each other.

Dirk slid himself in and Nash arched his back to the rhythm of his lover.

_And at that moment, we were vulnerable. Invincible._

They lost themselves in a catharsis of doubts and fears. A pair of bodies burning with passion in the summer heat.

_Though nothing will keep us together_

_We could steal time_

_Just for one day_

_We can be heroes_

_Forever and ever_

_What d'you say_

What happened that night would be a thing that Steve Nash and Dirk Nowitzki would never reveal even if they were asked the same question for the hundredth time. The truth was theirs to keep and theirs alone to share.


	5. June, 2006

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Creep (Radiohead) is Dirk's theme song. No one can convince me otherwise.

**Phoenix, Arizona**

Steve Nash woke up and checked his cellphone only to find that there was still no call or message from Dirk Nowitzki.

After finishing a plate of scrambled eggs and taking a cold shower to ward off the broiling summer heat of Phoenix, Nash lounged on the sofa, holding his phone firmly in his hand and staring at the screen.

Ring. Ring.

No answer. Dirk was being less and less attentive to his phone and it’s been like that since last summer and it’s starting to worry the hell out of Nash. He wasn’t sure if Dirk was still grieving the Mavs’ loss to the Miami Heat in the finals, and regardless of what Dirk was feeling, Nash wanted to hear from him, to talk to him. Dirk behaved pretty much the same after last year’s playoffs, but he was more accepting of the defeat because it was Nash’s team, and with Nash, there was never any lingering feeling of regret or disappointment whenever he lost the chance to win a championship ring.

Whenever Dallas played the Suns in the playoffs, they spent dinner together after every game. Last year during the west con semi-finals, they did just that, and this year’s west con finals, which was around three weeks ago, was no different. Dirk really went into a downtime after every playoffs and all Nash could do was hope that all Dirk was doing is living up to what he wrote in the text message to Nash after they had dinner on the night of Dallas vs. Phoenix, Game 6, when Dallas finally won against the Suns.

_You still the B2B MVP! Gotta go and be a total gym rat like you. Got to beat the Heat!_

Nash closed the message and put his phone down. Just less than a month and he was already missing Dirk, because what use was a back-to-back MVP if he couldn’t share it with the person he loved the most?

Nash shook his head in an attempt to shake off the thoughts. He didn’t want to be sentimental with his own feelings, he wanted to think about Dirk. What’s Dirk doing? Where exactly is he? What does he feel after two consecutive losses where one went into overtime, with the Heat taking a one-point lead, and the final game just a three-point deficit? What does he feel when he was just one more step to winning a championship but then he tumbles?

Nash had never even experienced playing in the NBA finals so he really couldn’t be sure of what he’d feel when such an opportunity presents itself and he loses it, but then he just shook his head again to avoid dwelling on his own feelings.

 _I’ve never even been to the finals_ , Nash thought. If Dirk, his dear Dirk who was able to compete against the east con champs for a chance to win the championship, kept his focus on playing the game better, then maybe it was time for him to do the same. Less distractions, more work. Not that Dirk was an unwelcome distraction but it was strange that Dirk had not tried to contact him or responded to his attempts.

Nash made a mental note to use the thought of Dirk spending all day at the gym as motivation to keep on practicing, but for now, he closed his eyes to take an afternoon nap. The Sonoran Desert heat was debilitating.

**Dallas, Texas**

Dirk told the custodians of the practice facility that he just needed ten more minutes before calling it a night. It was already past eight but he didn’t feel like going back to his apartment to have dinner and sleep. It’s as if his mind urged him to practice until he passed out from exhaustion.

_I don’t care if it hurts_

_I want to have control_

He shot a three-pointer despite the protest of his weary wrist. It went in, but what use was it when he could hit a three-pointer here and not in the finals?

_I wish I was special_

He wanted to do it the way Nash did, to be able to sink the shots no matter what, when, and who his defender was, to play the game in a way that’s worthy of two consecutive MVP titles.

_You’re so fucking special_

Dirk sighed. It was time to go, but where was he supposed to go when he didn’t feel like spending another night alone in bed? Where was he supposed to be when he couldn’t make himself talk to the only person he wanted to talk to? He left the practice facility, thinking about a certain place in the apartment complex where his beloved would go just to contemplate, enjoy the solitary atmosphere and the cool night air.

Dirk found himself sitting on that bench, that bench Nash would sit on when he needed to re-examine his frustrations and get up being more motivated than ever. If it worked for Nash, then maybe it would for him.

But he was just staring at an empty Dallas night sky, wallowing in his disappointment at letting the championship ring slip away when his Nash, his dear, sweet Steve Nash was bagging MVP trophy after MVP trophy.

_What the hell am I doing here?_

_I don’t belong here_

Dirk sighed at the thought that he couldn’t just barge into Nash’s apartment and hug him. They were at least a thousand kilometers apart, and he could feel that distance as if it were a weight on his shoulders.

He dragged himself to his apartment, took a shower, and did all the mundane things he did before going to bed. He lay there, holding his cellphone, looking at all the messages and missed calls from Nash. There was no reason to make Nash worry but he just couldn’t bring himself to send a reply or answer a call. Not yet.

Dirk held the phone against his chest and closed his eyes, ready to sleep. If only he could kiss Nash on the lips and show Nash how proud he was, but he felt ashamed. Sure, his team beat Nash and the Suns, but he had no MVP, no ring.

_You’re just like an angel_

_Your skin makes me cry_

_You float like a feather_

_In a beautiful world_

_I wish I was special_


	6. July, 2007

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone reading this, you're still here? Just joking, thanks!

Dirk Nowitzki opened his apartment door to find Steve Nash in front of the doorway. 

“Hey, Nashy!” Dirk, ecstatic to see him so soon after the playoffs, gave him a tight hug and let him enter. “I didn’t know you were coming.” 

Nash sighed, pulling his suitcase as he walked in. “You haven’t been checking your phone again. D, for an MVP, you really still need someone to take care of you.” 

Dirk shrugged, turning his gaze from Nash to the suitcase. 

Nash noticed Dirk’s blank stare. He was a seven-foot-tall German skyscraper, he wasn’t supposed to look that adorable when he was clueless, but that look made Nash want to kiss him all over. Nash thought that it had been so long since the last time they made physical contact, ignited each other’s senses. To tell the truth, that was the main reason he took a flight from Phoenix to Dallas, the other being the fact that he wanted to escape the desert heat. 

“I’m gonna stay here a few days. So, how’s it feel to be MVP?” 

“I don’t know, I think you know that more than I do,” was Dirk’s nonchalant reply. 

Nash rolled his eyes. His title just got taken and that’s all his boyfriend had to say? 

“Sorry, I kind of just woke up.” Dirk scratched the back of his head. “I need a shower. You can put your things in my room.” 

Dirk pulled Nash’s suitcase and swung an arm around his shoulder, leading him to the familiar bedroom. The room smelled so… Dirk. A unique blend of musky and pleasant, like rainforest mixed with… maple syrup? That’s awfully Canadian. 

“Hey, thanks,” Dirk said as he took off his clothes and wrapped a towel around his waist, “for coming here right after the playoffs.” 

Nash started unpacking his luggage, placing his clothes in a neat pile on the bed.  He turned his head to Dirk and said, “Believe me, you don’t want to be near any desert this time of year.” _This is as much for me as it is for you._  

Dirk smiled. “Well, make yourself comfortable, there’s the A/C.” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

Nash watched Dirk go inside the bathroom and heard the door close, but there was no click of the lock. Dirk was probably oblivious, but to him, that was an invitation. He took off his clothes and stood there, completely naked, as he heard the sound of the water pouring from the showerhead. 

Dirk heard the bathroom door open and close. That could be no one else but Nash. After a rustle of the shower curtain, Dirk felt hands feel up his chest and his abdominal muscles in a circular motion. Those smooth and capable hands traveled down below his waist, to his groin, until they held his manhood between them, rubbing him in places that made him weak in the knees. Pulling and squeezing and pushing and squeezing and pulling and squeezing again with such skill, and just the right amount of pressure, that he could feel the rush of blood to his groin, making him hard and erect. 

“You like that?” Nash whispered. 

“More than you know.” 

Nash planted a kiss on the base of Dirk’s nape and knelt on the wet floor, releasing Dirk from his grasp. “Turn around,” he commanded. 

Dirk did as he was told, a rush of excitement going through his body at the sight of Nash kneeling in front of him, wet hair looking silkier than ever. The thought of burying his hands in Nash’s hair and Nash taking him in, pleasing him, made him even more aroused, but there was one thing he wanted to make sure of. 

“I don’t think this is fair to you,” Dirk said, stroking Nash’s neck and thumbing his jaw. “I mean, I took the title from you, and I wasn’t even there when you became MVP, twice.” 

Nash held Dirk’s hand in his. “Dirk, there is no fair or unfair between us. There’s just us.” 

“You sure?” 

“D,” Nash sighed. Dirk’s naivety was both endearing and, to be honest, starting to get on his nerves. “I want this more than you’ll ever know.” 

Nash decided that there was no other way but to show Dirk what he wanted. He placed his left hand on the back of Dirk’s thigh, running his fingers along the tight muscles, and held Dirk’s member in his right, feeling how hard Dirk already was. He wrapped his lips around Dirk’s erection and made his tongue do the work, taking in everything, inch by inch. _He wasn’t called Big D for nothing._ Dirk ran both hands through his hair and grabbed on to a few locks. This time, Nash started to pull away, making sure to taste every bit of Dirk. 

The motion made Dirk jerk his hips forward. He did it without even thinking and that made him sure that he was losing control over his body. He felt Nash swallow him in again, doing wonders to him, movements of the lips and tongue that he couldn’t describe anymore. He started moaning, the waves of pleasure about to send him over the edge. He tossed his head back, wet blonde hair flailing wildly, skin more sensitive than ever to every drop of water that cooled his burning body. 

After running his lips across Dirk one last time, Nash stood up. “Not yet,” he panted. He held Dirk’s face between his hands and pulled in for a kiss, tongues wrestling with each other, Nash eager to share the invigorating taste with his lover. 

Dirk felt intoxicated, submitting to Nash’s every will. He thought it just and appropriate because he had never done something like this for Nash, not in 2005, not in 2006. 

“Take me from behind,” Nash muttered in Dirk’s ear. Nash turned around to lean an arm on the bathroom wall, using his free hand to stroke his own hardness, cold water prickling the skin on his back. 

He felt Dirk’s strong hands grab the sides of his waist and Dirk’s soft lips brush his ear. “Ich liebe dich.” The expression of love made Nash’s heart skip a beat. The German was totally out of it, he must not have realized he just spoke in his native language to a Canadian, but it was too common a phrase for Nash not to understand. He closed his eyes, completely ready for what Dirk was going to do next. 

Dirk trailed gentle kisses from Nash’s ear to the nape as he slowly let Nash take him in, all of him. They haven’t had this much fun for a while, which would explain how tight Nash was. He felt Nash all around him, warm and tight, as he pulled and thrust back in, gaining a steady rhythm that made Nash grunt and moan like a man possessed. Dirk wanted to show Nash how much he appreciated everything, Nash’s coming here from Phoenix, Nash’s way with his hands, Nash’s work with his tongue. Everything. 

Nash felt Dirk’s arms wrap around his waist in a tight embrace. Dirk nibbled and sucked on the tender skin of his nape, pushing him closer and closer to his climax. He’s waited for this for so long and Dirk felt so good inside him and all he could think of was Dirk completely filling him up in places where he had felt so empty. 

With one last thrust, Dirk finally felt his release inside Nash. Dirk felt an overwhelming wave of absolute pleasure course through him, the burst of sensations and his own moan drowning out the sound of Nash’s. He could feel Nash tighten around him, writhing beneath his embrace. The tension in their bodies slowly slipped away, like an exorcism of yearning, giving way to satisfaction. 

And that was what Nash felt. Satisfaction. His knees buckled under him as he was held upright by Dirk’s embrace. He breathed in deeply for a few minutes and finally regained his senses.

“Pass me the soap,” Nash commanded. 

“Hm?” 

Nash turned around to face Dirk. “Pass me the soap, I want to clean us up.” 

Dirk grabbed the shampoo bottle instead and squeezed some on his hand, saying, “I’ve always wanted to do this,” before he lathered it all over Nash’s hair, massaging the scalp. “Does your back hurt? You’re not getting any younger, you know.” 

“Not much,” Nash murmured. “But I think the Spurs have taken whatever chance I had for a ring.” 

“There’s always next year,” Dirk reassured him. 

“And I’ll be thirty-four, not the MVP anymore, with my back aching like hell more than ever.” Nash could feel the bubbles dripping on his forehead, Dirk’s fingers digging into his hair, thumbs rubbing gently behind his ears. “My physio even recommended reduced minutes.”

Dirk wanted to demand it, say it out loud, but no, he couldn’t be selfish at a time that Nash was so vulnerable with him. Dirk wanted Nash to sit on the bench longer, make the Suns earn their multi-million dollar salaries, stop relying on one man to spoon-feed them, but what would hurt Nash more was to think that it was his fault for sitting on the bench too long, doing nothing as he watched his team disintegrate in front of him. Dirk couldn’t allow Nash that kind of torture, but he wanted to suggest that Nash shouldn’t play more than thirty minutes per game. Dirk wasn’t sure what to say so he kept quiet, just rinsing Nash’s hair, hoping that he’d wash away the doubts, too. Wouldn’t that be great? 

“Dirk, you think I should have stayed?” Nash mumbled, more to himself than to Dirk, leaning his head on Dirk’s chest. 

Dirk placed his hands on Nash’s back, rubbing in circles in an effort to console him. Nash was the funny one, the one with the witty sense of humor, and Dirk was usually the butt of the joke, but now, it looks like Nash needed a taste of his own medicine. “Hm, I don’t think you’d be two-time MVP if you did.” 

Dirk felt Nash let out a deep breath, then he was trembling, trying to suppress a giggle against Dirk’s chest, but he was failing and his laughter echoed off the bathroom walls. 

They could spend all day in Dirk’s bathroom, if that’s what Nash wanted. 

_Whatever makes you happy_

_Whatever you want_

_You’re so fucking special._ Dirk couldn’t shake that song off his mind.


	7. June, 2011

Struggle. That was the word Steve Nash chose to describe the last three seasons. It had been a struggle to get into the west con finals, let alone the NBA finals, and hell, it was hard enough to get in the playoffs. It was a struggle to carry a team through a season, especially with Shawn Marion not being there for them in the 2008 playoffs and the 2009 season because, let’s face it, the Suns relied on a fast-paced offense and an aging Shaquille O’neal was probably one of the last names one thought of when they heard the words fast break, and it showed because they didn’t even make it in the 2009 playoffs. What a fucked up move was that anyway? Everyone knew Shaq was salty because he thought, he believed, that Nash robbed him of the 2005 MVP. Shaq would never be able to give Nash a hundred percent respect because of that, and to be honest, Nash was glad they got rid of him after a single season. It got rid of a lot of weight on Nash’s shoulders and he was pleased that they could make it to the 2010 west con finals, but Kobe Bryant happened, and everybody knows what happens when Kobe Bryant happens.

There’s no argument that playing basketball for a livelihood is a great privilege and exhilaratingly fun, but this season was one of the biggest struggles Nash had to face, playing with no Stoudemire, no Marion, not even Shaq. They had more losses than wins. It looks like that championship ring is slipping farther and farther away from him, and maybe it was time for Nash to finally accept it, maybe even time for him to jump ship and move on to a more lucrative contract as he played his last few years as an NBA player.

He was now thirty-seven years old and will be facing retirement soon. It was time to spend more time and effort on what, _who_ , mattered most, Dirk Nowitzki.

Nash had booked a flight to Dallas that would get him enough time to go to Dirk’s apartment after Game 5. He decided to have dinner in some restaurant before he went and waited in front of Dirk’s door, ready to surprise the title contender, whatever the outcome of Game 5 was. When he found out that Dallas won against the Heat, 112-103, leading the series 3-2, Nash stormed out of that restaurant and went straight to the apartment complex that held so many memories of their budding relationship.

Tonight, Nash really decided to make time and exert effort, what with Dirk one game away from winning the championship, becoming finals MVP, and getting a ring.

* * *

Dirk stepped out of the elevator and walked slowly through the corridor, tired from the game and the post-game interviews and all, but still elated by the fact that they had won against the Heat, the same team that beat them in the 2006 finals. Dirk couldn’t even start thinking about what it would feel like if they beat them again in Game 6 and finally win the championship.

A familiar figure leaning on the wall near his apartment door grabbed all his attention. Dirk stopped midway and squinted to make sure that he was seeing what he was seeing, because it all seemed too good to be true, Dallas winning and an unexpected visit from his beloved. After a few seconds, he was completely sure who it was. He felt his heart stop and then pound with uncontrollable excitement so he walked on briskly, picking up his pace.

Nash heard the footsteps and turned to look. When he saw it was Dirk, he was only able to utter, “D!” before he was lifted and spun around in a tight embrace, Dirk yelling, “Nashy!” over and over again, no care at all if he bothered the other tenants at that time of night. Dirk put Nash back on the ground, still in a tight hug, leaning in to rub his face against Nash’s cheek.

Nash felt Dirk’s stubble all over his cheek and it sort of tickled. Thank God they were alone in the corridor. “Dude,” Nash giggled, trying to free himself. “Chill out.”

Dirk released him and playfully ruffled his hair before opening the locked door. Dirk motioned for him to go in first.

“Congrats! You did great tonight, 29 points,” Nash said, pulling his suitcase as he entered.

“Yeah, felt unreal.” Dirk closed the door. “And I’m real happy that you’re here.”

They entered the bedroom and each went to the opposite sides of the bed, preparing themselves for sleep. There was a moment of comfortable silence between them, one certain that the other was submerged in thought. Nash was thinking of Dirk, what Dirk must be thinking, standing there taking his clothes off, and how much pressure Dirk was feeling knowing that he was just one more game from winning the NBA championship.

Dirk wanted to get the championship trophy, ring, and the finals MVP trophy out of his mind and focus instead on Game 6 and how he could play better, as a way to ward off the pressure. He’s been playing for Dallas for thirteen years, a team that’s never won a championship, so this year could be the year he makes history. But he didn’t want those thoughts to flood his mind, so he thought of how Nash felt, not even making it to the playoffs and getting nearer and nearer to retirement. Dirk wanted to talk more about that than him winning the championship, which was something that’s better off talked about after he’s won, if he was to win at all.

Once Dirk finished, he lied on the bed, an arm extended toward the opposite side, ready to wrap it around Nash when Nash rested his head on the crook of Dirk’s neck.

“Did you wait long?” Dirk asked.

“Nah,” replied Nash, taking his boxers off and placing them neatly on the floor. They grew accustomed to sleeping nude next to each other. It felt more personal, more comfortable. “Really, a lifetime would feel short if it meant waiting for you.”

“Wow,” Dirk laughed. “You should become a poet.”

“Knock it off, D.” Nash plopped on the bed and covered their bodies with the bed sheets. “I meant it.”

Nash rested his head on Dirk’s shoulder and put an arm around Dirk’s chest, savoring the feel of Dirk’s warm skin on his own. He was close enough to feel Dirk’s breath on his forehead and Dirk’s heartbeat. He felt so safe this way, enclosed in his lover’s arms, as if nothing could harm him, as if none of his worries mattered. It was the perfect time to share whatever he wanted to share.

“You know, if I could be your teammate, even just for Game 6, I’d trade away my MVP,” Nash said, his tone more of longing than regret. He had already gotten over whatever feelings of regret he had when he left the Mavs, but if he could help Dirk win a championship, it would mean the world to him. If there was anything to regret, it wasn’t all the championships they could have won had he stayed, it was not being on Dirk’s team when Dirk needed him the most.

Dirk stroked Nash’s hair, curling the ends of the brown locks with his fingers. “Both of them?”

“MVP, Dirk,” Nash retorted. “Singular.”

Dirk smiled. He loved the way Nash responded wryly to his attempts at a joke. “I’d trade away mine if it meant we could play Game 6 together.”

Nash smiled and placed a kiss on Dirk’s neck to show how much he appreciated those words, but now, it was time for him to encourage Dirk to win the next game, not for his sake, but for Dirk’s.

“Dirk,” Nash spoke in a very serious and confident manner, the same way he did when he spoke as team captain in the last few minutes of the fourth quarter. He propped himself on an elbow and looked into Dirk’s eyes. “I didn’t make it to the playoffs this year, and frankly, I don’t think the Suns ever will again, if we keep going at this rate. My name’s gonna be on the list of MVPs who’ve never won a championship, hell, I never even made it to the finals.” Nash paused, maintaining composure as he stared deeper into Dirk’s gray eyes. “But you, Dirk Nowitzki, your name’s too good for that list, and I want you to march down the American Airlines Arena like you own the place. The ring’s yours, and the Heat can do nothing to stop you.”

Dirk felt Nash’s grip on his shoulder tighten. He could see the fire burning in Nash’s blue eyes. It’s as if Nash wanted this as much as he did, well, Nash probably did. Dirk felt the pressure morph into motivation, like some sort of spell was cast on him to turn the burden on his shoulders into fuel for his soul. For anyone who thought Nash was undeserving of his back to back MVPs, they only needed to hear him give them a pep talk and decide for themselves what effect he had on people, on their performance. He made everyone who played with him better, and it’s not just when he made mind-boggling passes look easy, it’s when he poured his heart and soul not only into the way he played basketball, but also into the words he spoke to his teammates.

Nash sat up, not breaking eye contact with Dirk. “You want an ice pack? A massage?”

“No, I just, um,” Dirk stuttered. Before he could speak, Nash traced a hand on his thigh muscles, gently exerting pressure around a bruise. The pain and pleasure Dirk felt was enough to cause blood to rush to his face.

“Well, what do you want?”

“You,” Dirk blurted out.

Nash raised his brows in surprise. The question was all over his face, _“What about me?”_ Dirk sat up and placed his hands firmly on Nash’s shoulders. “Steve.” Dirk’s hot breath lingered in his ear. Dirk only called him by his first name in intimate settings, and things sure were about to get intimate. “I want you on top of me, right now.”

Nash felt so proud of himself. _Mission accomplished._ He had Dirk filled to the brim with passion, conviction, and determination, so much so that Dirk was now fiercely demanding sexual satisfaction from him. If Dirk was this fired up in the next game, he will definitely win the championship. No question.

But right now, how could Nash not give in to that demand? Nash pressed his lips to Dirk’s jaw, licking and sucking on the tender flesh as he gently pushed Dirk down, climbing on top with his knees on either side of Dirk’s waist, practically chewing on the skin on Dirk’s jaw.

Dirk traced his fingers from Nash’s hairy abdomen until he was holding Nash in his hands, pleased at how hard Nash already was. He gripped the base of Nash’s erection with one hand and pulled with the other, causing Nash to bite on the skin on his jaw.

“Fuck,” Dirk grunted. He couldn’t stop himself from reacting to the pleasure he was feeling from the pain of Nash’s bite. Damn, just another hickey for the cameramen to zoom in on.

Nash propped himself on Dirk’s broad chest and stared into Dirk’s eyes, imbued with lust. Poor thing, he must’ve been seeking a much-needed release after a physically, mentally, and emotionally tiring game. That was why Nash flew all the way from Phoenix in the first place, to provide Dirk the emotional outlet he needed, to absorb the doubts, the fears, the anxiety. He went to Dallas with his mind and body ready to bend to Dirk’s every whim.

Nash leaned in, his lips crashing into Dirk’s, tongues in a crazed entanglement, feeding off each other’s sexual appetites. Dirk responded by grabbing the sides of Nash’s waist, guiding Nash to the tip of his swollen member.

Dirk’s hungry kisses muffled Nash’s moans as he plunged inside, pulling and thrusting slowly before gradually setting into a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure through their bodies, pleasure enough to send them spiraling out of control.

Nash could feel Dirk pulsating inside him, already close to filling him. The friction was driving him insane and he couldn’t stop himself from nibbling on Dirk’s lower lip, earning lustful moans from the German. Dirk thrust into him once more and he felt Dirk’s fluids flowing inside him. Nash could go no further and finally, he arched his back and felt his release all over Dirk, taking all the pressure, the worries, everything, away from Dirk before collapsing on top of him.

Dirk wrapped his arms around Nash, their quick breathing becoming steadier, more relaxed. They could feel each other’s heartbeats, Nash lying motionless on top of Dirk, eyes closed as if he were already asleep.

“Are you gonna stay with the Suns?” Dirk asked, thinking of what Nash said, that he had not yet won a championship, let alone played in the finals.

“To be honest,” Nash mumbled. “I have been thinking.”

“Why not sign with us?” Dirk smiled at the thought.

“No Dirk, I’ve seen you grow without me. You’ve become an incredible athlete and I’m so fucking proud of you.”

Dirk took a deep breath, feeling so grateful to be in love with such an amazing person. Nash, despite not being a Dallas Maverick, had stayed with him every step of the way. Who was he kidding? They were always there for each other, and Game 6 of the finals was no different.

“Hey, Dirk.”

“Yeah?”

“If you like me, then you should get a ring for me.”

Dirk grinned. _Typical Nash._ He closed his eyes, knowing that he was more than ready to get his head in the game and win the championship.

“And Dirk, after the game, check your phone,” he heard Nash murmur before they drifted off to sleep.

* * *

The final buzzer sounded. The scoreboard showed 105-95. Dallas won. Was Dirk Nowitzki dreaming?

What happened was a blur. No word in the German language could describe it. The emotions he felt were so overwhelming that he had to run back to the locker room and cool off before the Mavericks could drag him to the podium of champions.

The finals MVP trophy. The championship trophy. The championship ring.

 _If you like me, then you should get a ring for me. And Dirk, after the game, check your phone._ Nash’s words swirled in his mind. Nash. Nash. Nash. Steve Nash was all he could think of when he held the championship and MVP trophies in his arms. Mark Cuban told him that after the ceremony and the interviews, they were going to celebrate and party hard at somewhere called the Club LIV at some hotel in Miami Beach, but the truth is that all Dirk wanted was to be someplace alone with the man he loved, the man to whom he dedicated this game, the man who he wanted to win this championship with, all those thirteen years ago.

When Dirk finally had time alone in the locker room, he did exactly what Nash told him to, he checked his phone. Sure enough, there was a message from Nash.

_I’m parked somewhere between NE 6th and 7th ST._

The message didn’t even tell him that he should go there. What if he forgot to check his phone, like he usually did, and decided to go to the after party instead? _Really, a lifetime would feel short if it meant waiting for you._ Nash’s voice echoed in Dirk’s mind and he could feel the tears welling up in his eyes. Tonight was a very emotional night, how could he not celebrate this moment with Nash? It’s like he couldn’t forgive himself if he didn’t, so he shoved his things in his duffle bag and bolted out the locker room, his destination being somewhere between NE 6th and 7th ST.

* * *

Out in the open parking lot, Nash stood beside a pickup truck he rented, staring at the starry night sky of Miami and occasionally glancing toward the American Airlines Arena. It seemed selfish but he wanted Dirk all for himself, spend all night with Dirk in a hotel, or walk around a park, or walk barefoot on some beach. He wasn’t even sure if Dirk was going to check his phone or come at all, because he made sure that he demanded nothing in his message. This was Dirk’s moment and Dirk should be the one to decide whatever he wanted to do.

Speaking of which, Nash turned his gaze from the sky to the arena in time to see a familiar, seven-foot-tall, blonde German walking toward him, looking as if he just won the lottery. In fact, he won something better, the NBA championship.

Nash opened his arms and welcomed Dirk in an embrace. He felt Dirk’s arms wrap around him tightly.

“You know I love you, right?” Dirk whispered in his ear.

“Yeah, I know, really do.”

Dirk released him. “So, what do you wanna do?”

“Dirk, this is your moment, I want whatever you want.” Nash took the duffle bag from Dirk and put it in the backseat of the pickup. “Get in the car.”

“Where are we going?”

“Wherever you wanna go.”

Nash inserted the key, started the engine, and turned on the radio, Dirk looking at him from the passenger seat.

“You get to do whatever you want tonight, but when I get inducted in the Hall of Fame, it’s your treat, agreed?”

“Ich stimme zu.”

“Then we have an agreement,” Nash said before he started driving. “I know a place.”

_Though nothing will drive them away_

_We can beat them_

_Just for one day_

_We can be heroes_

_Just for one day_

Dirk could see the American Airlines Arena getting smaller and smaller in the side mirror. He didn’t even bother telling anyone that he wasn’t going to attend the after party. Were they wondering? He wasn’t exactly one to go unnoticed, being finals MVP and well, a seven-foot-tall German. Maybe he’d send Jason Terry or Cuban a message that his stomach acted up from all the excitement, or that he wanted time alone to let everything sink in, or just tell them the truth, that he was spirited away by Steve Nash.

And Nash could care less about where they were going or what they were going to do, as long as he was with Dirk. He’d busted his ass playing for the Suns, trying to get them their first championship, but it just wasn’t meant to be, and he’s glad that Dirk didn’t meet the same fate. They really were more similar than they think, two peas in a pod, the shining hope of teams that have never won a championship. Even if he couldn’t do it for the Suns, he knew he did more than what was asked of him. He did his best, and that was what Steve Nash was all about. He was the best at doing his best, and tonight, and probably for the rest of his life, he would exert his best effort to make Dirk feel happy and appreciated.

_Though nothing, nothing will keep us together_

_We can beat them_

_Forever and ever_

_Oh, we can be heroes_

_Just for one day_

As for their relationship, it wasn’t exactly uncomplicated. Nash recalled the days when he was twenty-four and Dirk was twenty. Dirk looked like he needed someone older and wiser to be there for him, and Nash, Nash himself who couldn’t say that he was a hundred percent heterosexual, or whatever, maybe Dirk was the only exception, didn’t know if he was leading Dirk on or just being a good friend. Because who the fuck can differentiate between being awfully nice and leading someone on, right? Nash didn’t even know if he himself was queer, or if Dirk was queer, and it was all just one hell of a mess, until Dirk kissed him and made love to him. He remembered that his mother had called in the morning and he was sure she heard Dirk groan over the phone. And that was it, it was futile to keep it secret from his family and he felt so much better ever since.

A red stoplight. Nash looked at Dirk who was staring ahead as if he were absorbed in his own thoughts.

“You know I love you, right?” Nash said, out of the blue. He just felt like saying it.

Dirk turned to look at him, grinning. “Yeah, Yeah I do.”

When at first, everything seemed so uncertain, so full of doubt, and not everything went the way they wanted, it all fell into place anyway. Nash would keep on playing until retirement and Dirk would keep on playing for the Mavericks. Nash would be there for Dirk and Dirk would be there for Nash. It was always Steve and Dirk, Nash and Nowitzki, and it will always be that way.

_Though nothing will drive them away_

_We can be heroes_

_Just for one day_

_We can be us_

_Just for one day_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Car scene a bit inspired by The Perks of Being a Wallflower? Hell yes. 
> 
> (Insert expletive here), how I enjoyed writing this! It's my first time to write a gay relationship and scenes that are a bit explicit, so that's why I think I really enjoyed it, because it's new and new things are usually exciting. Sorry if I got anything wrong, but I hope whoever read this liked reading it as much as I did writing it, thank you!


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